Mellisa & Lisa-Ann
I guess the best place to start is the beginning. It's been a little over a year now. I had just gone off to college, away from home for the first time. I had had sex, with one guy. I wasn't easy by any means.
My name is Lisa Ann. I'll be 21 soon. I'm 5'7", with a good build (36c/25/35) and red hair. I always knew I could turn heads, but until I met Melissa, I didn't know how to use that.
When I got to college, I had to stay in the dorms. My family isn't really well off. That's where I met her. She wasn't unattractive, but she had that certain something, you know. She carried herself like she was a queen. And managed to get treated that way.
We hit it off right away. It seemed like we were always together. She was always so sweet to me, she complimented my clothes all the time. She always joked that she was jealous of my breasts cause she was an A-cup and wanted mine.
To this day, I'm not exactly sure of all the details. My birthday is Valentine's Day. If you think it's a bitch to be alone on Valentine's, add your birthday to it. My folks sent presents, and a few friends took me out for dinner, but that was my big 20th. When I got home, Melissa was waiting with a present. It was a beautiful gold locket just like one that she had. She also poured some champagne. I didn't normally drink, but I was feeling a little sorry for myself so I had a couple. I vaguely remember looking at the locket like it was the only thing in my world.
The next morning I woke up in Melissa's bed. We were snuggled together and both of us were naked. To say I was stunned was an understatement. Especially when I realized that her hand was on my crotch. And I was, well at the time I would have said "not exactly fresh".
Somehow, Melissa and I had ended up in bed together and I was sure that I had had sex. When I looked at Melissa, my fears were heightened by the fact that she was wearing a strap-on dildo. It was bigger than my old boyfriend's penis ever was.
"Want some?" Melissa said as she woke to find me staring at the fake cock. I started to get out of the bed. "Come on, you know it gives you a tingle."
Suddenly, my vagina seemed to be on fire. I couldn't stand. I couldn't think. I just had to have her cock buried in me. It seemed like one motion that had me impaled on it. Apparently we hadn't been asleep long since both it and my pussy seemed well oiled. My mind started to clear as I was bouncing up and down on Melissa's tool.
I must have looked fairly confused because Melissa started to laugh. I just kept impaling myself like a madwoman.
"You'll find there have been some changes Lisa Ann. Your prudish attitude was getting boring. Besides, a body like that was meant to be used." Melissa seemed to be enjoying herself. "Your legs are now open for business. Anytime I want you, or anybody else for that matter, you'll be juiced and ready to go."
"What ... have ... you ... done ... to ... me?" The cadence of my pussy determined my speech pattern.
"I told you I wanted your tits. And now I've got 'em. And anything else I might want of you. If I want you to orgasm, I merely have to say a word. If I want you to fuck or suck anyone in sight, a simple word."
"Nooo." It sounded pathetic under the circumstances, but it was all I could manage.
"Oh yes. In fact the great thing about this little experiment is that every time you orgasm, your defenses break down a little more. Pretty soon, you won't even remember not being my redheaded slut. You may not want to remember if your performance last night was any indication. Now... tingle."
There was this explosion inside me. To that point I'd never had an orgasm (that I remembered anyway). It turned me inside out. I felt like I couldn't go on, but I couldn't stop. I just kept riding that dildo for all I was worth. Melissa just laughed as she began playing with my tits, pinching my nipples, and saying that word.
I ended up dropping out of school and taking an apartment in town. Melissa had me working as a stripper for a little while, taking the more generous customers home for private shows.
She was right, I have only vague memory of not loving sex. I've been diagnosed as a nyphomaniac. But I hardly care as long as the only cure is more tingle.
Melissa and I have parted ways. But not before she gave me one last command. The word "tingle" is all around me. On shirts, paintings, my license plates, and that tattoo in my cleavage that can't be missed. I must hear it a dozen times a day. In fact, I have to go take care of something right now.